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Marc Platt

First published in 1992 by Doctor Who Books an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd

338 Ladbroke Grove

London W10 5AH

For Andrew and Kate

and their pale cat

My thanks to a whole cradleful of people who helped pull the strings:

Ben Aaronovitch, Robert Allsopp, Ian Briggs, Jon Cox, Terrance Dicks, Ian and Margaret and Alice Mackenzie-Sherrin, Sue Moore, Gary Russell, Mike Tucker, Beth Finch and Tony McTurk and Salsa and Tumpy

Cradles for cats

Are string and air

If you let go

There's nothing there.

But if we are neat

And nimble and clever

Pussy-cat's cradle will

Go on for ever.

Myfanwy Piper

the libretto to Britten's opera

The Turn of the Screw

Prologue

The Doctor dropped a slice of stale bread into a battered electric toaster and pondered what to do next. He paused for a moment. The gentle hum of his TARDIS was disconcertingly soothing.

He had recently noticed a tiny rattle in the time machine's drive units. Something had probably worked loose during aeons of travels in the ship and he had already grown used to it. But now that the fault had suddenly stopped, its absence worried him.

Traversing time as he did, back and forth across centuries of space, rendered the dimension almost meaningless. The Doctor had only occasionally remembered that things needed replacing or servicing, or they wore out completely. Even within the TARDIS, time still took its toll.

But he had things to do. He hurriedly reminded himself of the world where he had been born. Gallifrey: the dark, baroque auditorium where silent ranks of centuries-old Time Lords were half-lit by the play of the Universe they so passively observed. All that potential wasted. The most powerful civilization in the cosmos would have been better off staying in the Dark Time; the time of Chaos and superstition. That was why he left. He couldn't just sit there.

That image was always enough to strike out thoughts of such ponderous domestic tasks as repairs. Time was of the essence.

There were still countless races and cultures to sample; other people's problems that needed sorting out; battles to be fought or avoided; heroes and companions who needed rescuing; ruffled water that threw back a thousand reflections of a single ruby-red sun.

He might debate philosophy with the wisest minds in the Universe, or construct a pair of workable wings from his collection of quill pens.

The Doctor decided not to worry. He convinced himself that the TARDIS's rattle had simple righted itself in the general course of events. Satisfied, he allowed himself a glow of appreciation for his trusty ship, but not for too long — he was busy.

"Professor!" The latest companion burst through the galley door and descended upon him waving her arms through wreaths of smoke.

"You've done it again!" shouted Ace.

The Doctor looked and saw that his toast was burning. A snatch of rhyme began to tumble annoyingly around his head:

For Tweedledum said Tweedledee

Had spoiled his nice new rattle.

He pondered on its peculiar significance and reached for a fire extinguisher.

1: Moussaka and Chips

Vael Voryunsti Sheverell was not cut out to be a Young Hero. At the Academia, he played truant from lectures as often as possible. Other Young Hero cadets gathered in the watery sunlight on the ancient caution steps that surrounded the learning halls, debating philosophy and strategy with their sandaled tutors. Vael studied Time theory alone.

He could spend days by himself, only leaving his books to stare from his tiny barrack room window at the wine-dark sky over the city. He would listen to the tales of the traders in the merchant port and space harbour below; strange-featured people who thought in strange accents as they bartered the wares of every exotic corner of the Gallifreyan Empire. They always bragged tales of the latest exploits of the Heroes on the widening frontiers. Hunting the lacustrine Sattisar and battling with the Gryffnae, whose great stone heads were studded with jewels. They brought news of the century-long siege